Falling Up
by captivatedbythesky
Summary: When Jo March flees to New York to escape an old friend's betrayal, she never thought she'd end up meeting his exact double. But then, Jack Kelly didn't exactly know what he was getting into either...' Jo/Jack, Jo/Laurie, Laurie/Amy. Little Women/Newsies
1. Chapter 1

**Falling Up– Chapter One**

**A Newsies/Little Women Crossover by mariagoner and captivatedbythesky **

**Rating – R (?) for later chapters**

**Disclaimer: We own neither Little Women nor Newsies. We just shoved them together. **

**Summary: 'When Jo March flees to New York to escape an old friend's betrayal, she never thought she'd end up meeting his exact double. But then, Jack Kelly didn't exactly know what he was getting into either...' Jo/Jack, Jo/Laurie, Laurie/Amy. Little Women/Newsies crossover!**

**This was mariagoner's idea. She is wonderful and lovely and brilliant. Give her all the credit for the lovely bits. And blame me for anything you don't like. **

**Because she is a ficcing **_**goddess.**_

***

In the short time that Miss Josephine March had been in New York and in the even shorter time that she'd been a successful writer, Miss March-- better known as Jo-- had learned quite well that there was only one constant possible in a literary spinster's life.

It was not adequate payment, God only knew. When she had first arrived in this city of a thousand fragile dreams, she'd had to eke out a rather miserable living as a governess first and an authoress second in order to make her month's rent, though truth be told, she was about as tender toward most young children as your average squadron of battle-shocked soldiers. (Though as she had told everyone who'd listen, it wasn't as though she'd _meant_ to lock her last pair of children up in a cupboard overnight... although it had stopped their tantrums surprisingly well.) And even when she had finally gotten to the point in her life where she could finally quit menial occupations nannying children in order to churn out the wild Gothics and moral pap that her publisher demanded month after month in her life, she was not always been assured of something substantial in remuneration, something that she had gritted her teeth often all too much of the time.

So adequate payment was certainly not something assured in her occupation. And truth be told, fame, adulation or even simple respect could not be assured either. Any writer worth their salt knew enough never to expect fortune from the start, lest they be ill prepared for lean times that were surely coming.

No, Jo thought as she stifled a sigh and looked around the small office she was waiting for this 'reporter' to come into, it was hassle that was the one constant of a working writer's life. Hassle, hassle, hassle on every which side. And such hassle never went away, even when one found themselves actually successful, as she had somehow found herself recently becoming.

Because with success in the publishing industry, hassle merely multiplied-- _especially_ when one found success as she did, in peddling the idealized story of her childhood so that starry-eyed girls all across the country could place themselves within the feet of the characters in Tiny Women... creating enough interest in her that her publishers had decided to flood her with reporters sent to poke and pry and dig up any interesting details that could be found to sell volumes yet to come.

It would be downright ungrateful for Jo to bemoan the fact that she had somehow, miraculously, become an overnight success in a very difficult occupation she had dreamed of conquering since she had been old enough to hold a quill in her hand and ruin her outraged older sister's drawers. But that didn't mean she enjoyed having to ruin a perfectly beautiful Sunday morning that she could have spent in bed, avoiding an old friend's far too jovial letters.

Which was why she kept her head down and looked sullenly at her nails while she waited, her ears hearing the tell-tale tap of the promised reporter's light steps across the hall coming to her room, but half deciding it wasn't worth the bother to look up even as she heard him come to a stop right outside the doors of the office she was encased in.

After all, how could he, in any way, be a startle or surprise?

Best to simply get this over with, after all.

***

At the age of 25, Jack Kelly found that he didn't have much to complain about in terms of his life.

Oh, there were a lot of people around who'd probably think he loved his job much too much. What glory, they might ask, was there to being an investigative news reporter? It meant spending most of your time chasing wild headlines, heading off to some of the most dangerous parts of the city, and getting a meager weekly paycheck that barely compensated a man for the chance to meet some of the more interesting inhabitants of the city and have to avoid being knocked down by them after they took offense to some of the questions thrown their way.

But Jack, with the days of Cowboy and Francis Sullivan far behind him, found that he loved being a reporter. And if anyone bothered to ask why, his simple answer to this was usually: "Hell, it beats sleeping in the gutter."

And that was damn well true, even if Jack had other reasons for loving his job. After spending a good part of his childhood and teenage years living hand-to-mouth and sleeping in a room with forty other young newsies shilling newspapers to earn a dime a day, he had learned to appreciate being able to write headlines behind his desk instead of hawking them on the street, the constant paychecks that allowed him to regularly eat and bathe, and the ability to actually sit in an office once in a while, instead of having to trudge through the mean city streets worrying about being mugged or falling victim to frostbite.

Nah, Jack was a reporter now and he knew he had it good. In fact, he believed his editor when he told him that Jack was a natural and had the newspaper business running through his veins. It made sense, especially since Jack had spent most of his childhood elbow deep in newsprint, figuring out what headlines sold and what people would get excited about. Also, his deep seeded hate and suspicion of corporate power were, in the words of David, "exactly the quality these papers need in an investigative journalist!" And when all of this was coupled with his nonchalant attitude about breaking laws and bothering police, it was no wonder he was on his way to being a major player for the paper and seeing his name on the front page any day now.

That said though, there was just one thing that he could never seem to get his head wrapped around – and that was that he really shouldn't be running his smart mouth off to his boss unless he wanted to be spanked like a red-headed step-child. And after he had gone and made another wise-ass comment to his editor that hadn't been received well, his boss had gone and done something much worse than just pulled down Jack's pants and give him a whupping like Jack's Pa would have done.

No, his editor had gone and made sure Jack was spending what would have otherwise been a very pleasant Saturday morning napping or catching up with friends into a morning where he had to interview some hoity-toity old lady spinster about some book she'd written about her childhood-- Little Ladies or Midget Women or whatever. Like Jack really gave a damn about a happy, idyllic childhood in some happy, idyllic life spent frolicking in the woods with family, or whatever.

Which was why Jack was now in front of an office door, clearing his throat and bracing himself for an excruciatingly boring interview that had to last for at least an hour.

"Miss Josephine March?" he finally asked, trying to suppress the coarse accent he didn't want to be judged on right now. "This is the reporter from the New York Sun. Can-- I mean, _may _I come in right now?"

***

When Jo first heard the voice of the reporter coming to her, she startled and actually looked up a bit in surprise, although of course she saw nothing more than the thin, cheap wood of the door that still separated the both of them, the man standing before her apparently being too polite to open it without permission.

It was a younger voice than she had expected, first of all-- much younger than most of the gentlemen she was used to seeing, and much coarser and lower of class as well, frankly speaking. He spoke in the thick, rather baroque accent of the streets, the sort of accent that treated 'g's' as optional and tended to add 'es'es unnecessarily. It was the sort of accent that would have Amy's prim golden curls seizing up in horror and send Aunt March into a veritable frenzy of disapproval... which, as far as Jo was concerned, as enough reason to tentatively approve of this man already.

Which was why, holding the memory of her family to the side, Jo finally looked up and over at the sturdy door, her mouth quirking into a faint, bemused smile.

"If I tell you that I'm not here," she began quite playfully, "you're not likely to believe me, are you? I keep trying that gambit with others and it never, ever works. And I suppose a reporter would be even harder to dupe in an interview he ought to own completely!"

***

Jack needed the interview to go well so he could be off probation next Saturday. That way, he could spend it as he pleased, instead of trying to make up for some crack he may or may not have made about the publisher's mother and the orangutan she may or may not have met nine months before said publisher had been born. He liked to be able to roam the city on Saturday morning, sitting in coffee shops and smiling at any pretty girls who walked by and catching up with David about how working in the governor's office was going for him now.

And if David was busy, Jack always liked to nap as he saw fit, maybe even reading a little if he could find a good cheapie to tuck into. Jack thought of these lazy mornings as his right, due to the childhood that had been spent making a living instead of playing stick ball in the street. It was only fair that when he finally had a decent job, he got a bit of time to lie around.

So, for the sake of sleep, which he never managed to get enough of due to deadlines, he laughed at the woman's jibe which, after all, wasn't that bad of one. Besides, it cost him nothing to try and sweet-talk this dame into liking him and after all the experience he had received at interviews, he'd gotten pretty good at that part.

"We ain't hard to fool," Jack admitted, grinning though she couldn't see. "Though I gotta to leave if you say anything _too_ bad about my paper. They make you take an oath about keeping up its honor and integrity, ya see, and they're not shy about chopping your thumbs off if you can't live up to it either."

***

"Oh really?" Jo said, and felt her smile grow a little. "However will you write about this titillating interview with me should they do that, my dear fellow? I suppose I'll have to do my level best to make sure you keep all the fingers you want."

He laughed again and her smile widened even further. It still wasn't wide enough to make her actually glad she had forgone a cozy morning in bed and a delectable breakfast and her ritual dance around answering her oldest friend's letters without wanting to die a little inside from the natural newly-wed happiness in them, of course, but...

Well, perhaps whoever it was behind the door maybe wouldn't be so terrible to talk to after all. Perhaps this interview, for once, might actually be painless and not end with her throwing (or at least _thinking_ of throwing) something heavy at someone's condescending head. Perhaps instead of receiving thinly veiled questions wondering what was wrong with her that she hadn't ended up married by the ripe old age of four-and-twenty, she'd actually-- for once!-- get a little respect.

Perhaps. It was simply a possibility for now but given the dark few last months she'd spent in New York, trying to pretend her heart hadn't been breaking in her miserable breast, Jo would take any chances she could get.

"And you shouldn't tell anyone else about that oath," she added thoughtfully, and propped her head on her palm. "Imagine if the word got out to the criminal underground and they knew all they had to do to get you all away was badmouth the letters column? Which-- sorry to say --is rather terrible. I'm still unsure of how your good readers manage to write in while suffering what appear to be massive head-traumas that rob of them of their ability to spell properly every which way."

There was a long silence. Jo finally smiled sheepishly, although she knew all too well the man still hidden behind the door couldn't see her.

"...Not that I mean any disrespect whatsoever."

***

Jack dropped the placating act and laughed in earnest. After all, he liked talking to people, especially when they came equipped with charming feminine attributes, and even if this woman was a wrinkled old hag-- as Jack's editor had gleefully described her-- at least she had a sense of humor.

Mind you, Jack would still much rather have been roaming around with David or snug in his own bed. But for a lady of-- how old was she supposed to be again?-- fifty-five, she made pretty good conversation. It was enough to keep _him_ interested, anyhow.

"I wish I could disagree with you there," Jack said cheerfully and quite honestly. "But, given some of the goombas that I know _read_ the paper, it's no wonder that the letter writers ain't that bright either. If anyone with a brain in their head actually read anything we printed, I'd have a goddamn stroke right here and--"

And then Jack realized from the sudden hush behind the door that he really shouldn't have cursed in front of some ancient literary woman that probably never even spent much time with men in the first place anyhow.

For a minute, the world went slow and the excruciating moment where he had humiliated himself in front of her replayed itself like something out of a horror novella. Eyes wide, Jack reheard the curse fall from his lips and suddenly felt weeks of Saturday napping fall out of his grasp as it replayed round and round. He saw his editor slamming weeks of monotonous stories that would get him up at God-forsaken hours of the day. He saw the warm bed that he would not get to lay in for a very long time flashing in his head. He saw David staring happily at a chorus of pretty girls tramping by their usual spot in the shop together, himself nowhere to be found.

"Oh, ma'am. I'm... I'm so sorry!" he moaned, feeling his idiocy falling on them like a veritable weight, his accent slipping in with full force. (It always happened when he was flustered.) "I shouldn't of done that in front of you. I should of watched my mouth! I have a terrible problem with lettin' it run when it really isn't connected to my brain at all. Are you... uh... are you gonna report me to my editor? Please, ma'am, if you've got an inch of mercy... please don't do that to me now."

***

Jo laughed.

Long and loud.

And even though she knew she probably ought to be afraid of hurting this young man's feelings-- Lord help her, she couldn't _help_ but almost choke as he had innocently stumbled on!

It was just-- oh he was so-- he was simply trying so _hard_ and making all these assumptions about her habits and apparently mistaking her for Aunt March or Marmee in how upright her moral fiber was currently--

Jo laughed, long and hard, while an appalled and finally confused silence emerged from his end. And when finally she could stop and wipe the wetness around her mouth away with the back of her hand-- how ladylike, as Amy would sardonically note, and how indicative of her fine breeding!-- she had to grin like a lunatic, keenly aware he couldn't see it.

"Don't worry!" she finally managed, in between a few lingering giggles. "I won't tell on you to the morality police! I've already experienced enough of their own approbation!"

"Really," she added, and the smile lighting up her plain, honest face made her look like a girl of sixteen again. "I've tasted their vengeance quite enough already. I couldn't throw a fellow sinner out to the sharks. Even if you _do_ like to curse in front of women, I doubt you were as bad as I've ever been."

***

All right. It was official. This was _definitely_ the most interesting old woman he had ever met in his life. In fact, he was beginning to like her alarmingly well right now, especially given that she was a washed-up old spinster who had gotten him out of bed at an unreasonable hour and had written a book that was, as far as he knew, dull as dishwater.

After all, it wasn't every day he met someone who could mock him relentlessly without being in the least mean-spirited... and make him like it either.

It was really a shame, Jack was coming to realize, that she was so damn old. She must have been a firecracker when she was younger and he thought he would have liked getting to see her spark.

Instead, he leaned forward and grinned, his hand falling up to smooth out his unruly hair before he saw her. "Ma'am," he said instead, his voice becoming just as playful as hers, "I have to tell you that I gotta doubt that. In fact, you were probably an angel compared to the stories I could tell you about _my_ sordid youth. They'd probably make you blush hard enough to make something pop!"

***

Jo ended up snorting. Couldn't help herself, really.

Since when was she a _ma'am_? And one with such delicate sensibilities?

Either the whelp outside the door thought she was decades older than she was... or he was testing her. And with a slightly wolfish smile, Jo decided she was willing to rise up to the occasion presently.

"Oh, don't worry about me," she said airily, waving a hand at him that he couldn't see. "I'm a literary spinster of a very ripe old age, after all. I've seen it all before and what I've witnessed first-hand, I can make up in my mind. That's the difference between my profession and yours, after all."

And then, like a shark, she struck.

"When I play at fiction, I don't bother to pretend that I'm _not_ pretending."

***

And with a laugh, Jack found he had to concede. There was no winning a battle of wits with this old woman, not when her voice was so bright and teasing and so honestly perceptive about some of the antics of his colleagues and-- truth be told-- Jack as well. So instead of trying to win a few points back, Jack just laughed and gave in, curious to see what she _really_ looked like anyhow.

His editor had made her seem like a gorgon in a skirt with a hair-bun but Jack was finding it surprisingly hard-put to match that image to her warmth, her laughter, and her almost tangible charm.

So Jack simply pressed on.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to open the door," he said, his voice warm and his hand already moving to the door knob. "Ya see, I'm an immoral journalist who'll do anything to sell a story, and if you don't let me have an interview, I'll have to write that you're two and a half feet tall, sparkling yellow, and have an impressive wart in between your eyebrows."

***

"You forgot to add in the bit about my hideous wrinkled face," Jo said, not even bothering to hide the laughter bubbling up through her voice. "And I am considerably taller than you expected, although I'll give you the sparkling yellow skin and the wart. There was the result of a tragic accident that somehow went on between me, a horde of elephants, far too much mica and a glue factory that had far looser vats than it should have had. Best you not ask, honestly."

And finally, she stood up, smoothed out the smart gray evening dress she had donned for the occasion-- hell, if she had dressed up for him so far, she might as well make an impression-- and smiled again, this time rather slyly.

"And if you want to come in, you might as well come in. Or aren't you the strong, strapping man and I the helpless, feeble old woman?"

***

Jack still wasn't entirely sure that this wasn't some terrible trap in which this old Miss March would finish completely bewitching him, ambush him, and turn him into a pair of boots, like a witch from the stories his mother had used to tell him before her time had run out.

But in any case, it was time to finally meet this woman. So Jack took a quick breath, took off his hat (Jack's mother, God rest her soul, had taught him better than to go around talking to a woman with his hat planted on his head, even if she hadn't been around long enough to teach him to keep his mouth in check), opened the door--

And tried not to embarrass himself when his eyes fell on the woman that his editor had assured him was an old and loveless gorgon.

After all, though Jack didn't know whether she was loveless or not, 'old' and 'gorgon' turned out not to even fall into the same _territory_ as Miss Josephine March.

It wasn't that she was beautiful. Even a single glance at her reassured Jack that she was not. Honestly, even the word 'pretty' would be a bit too much a stretch to properly apply to her, given the thinness of her face, the severity of her features, and the way she completely lacked long, flowing hair, big, innocent eyes, a cupid-bow's mouth and all those other charms Jack had been taught a woman shouldn't do without.

If Jack had seen her on the street, he probably would have passed by without even bothering to smile at her. But he had just finished quite a conversation with her and right now, it seemed pretty miraculous that she wasn't an old hag, that she was _young_, that the hair coiled atop her head wasn't peppery but brown, that all of her slender, smartly clad frame seemed alive with vitality, and that her sharp gray eyes held no disadvantage on his own as they met him--

At least, until she seemed to get a good look at him.

And then they simply went wide as her once-flushed face went bloodless and Jack turned a bit panicked himself and wondered what he had done now.

***

Jo opened her mouth.

Jo tried to make out a few words.

Jo made a noise more reminiscent of asthmatic bears than of human beings.

In other words, Jo failed miserably at what she was trying to do now.

Her eyes took in his face. Her pupils contracted as she took in all the handsome features arrayed before he presently. And even as she looked up and down, right and around, side to side and ways to ways--

All Jo could see was-- was--

Something that _really_ shouldn't be.

That dark hair...

Those thick brows...

That handsome profile...

That broad smile...

Even the slender curve of the idiosyncratic nose and the cool, sharp outline of the cheek...

God help her but if this wasn't Laurie, she wouldn't gaping at the man before her as though she had suddenly been struck across the face with a plank.

And even though there was no mirror before her, Jo knew she was gaping quite spectacularly.

"T-T-T--" she half-began and then felt her brain shut down and sputter out from surprise, before she could fully finish anything.

***

Jack had always been aware that he was uncommonly handsome. He usually managed to only be mildly insufferable about this fact.

But even if he had even managed to get some of the looser women in New York to slash their prices for him in the past, he had never before managed to make an otherwise apparently normal woman sputter like she had just lost her tongue in an interesting factory accident or had her teeth pulled out by one of the less respectable loan sharks the city had to offer. Even _Jack's_ well-known vanity didn't quite stretch that far.

So, alarmed that she was either having a stroke or an ill-timed nervous break-down, he found himself grabbing Miss March around the waist (and _damn_ but she had a tiny little waist) and sitting her down into a chair, helplessly watching her continue to sputter as he contemplated calling for a doctor.

Honestly, he wasn't even sure what he _could_ do right now. The doctor bit sounded good but where the hell could he possibly go to find one at this hour? And how on earth was he supposed to keep her from wandering off while he went off, or even from being blamed for this? Knowing his editor, the sunnofabitch would probably assume he'd done something to set the poor woman off.

So instead, Jack simply hovered helplessly over her as she stared at him, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was staring back.

Damn, she really _was_ kind of cute, wasn't she? It was a shame she was apparently going into a catatonic stupor right now.

***

It took Jo quite a while to gather her wits, a quite a while that seemed to crawl by agonizingly as she stared and stared and stared at the man who was now gazing at her with his own curiosity. Given all of that, Jo understandably took her time while trying to puzzle out what on earth could be possibly happening to bring Laurie to her-- in such a bizarre disguise as well, as if they were once more play-acting.

But even as she did her best to piece the puzzle before her together, her confounded mind could not understand it in the least.

After all, she had left Massachusetts for a reason a year earlier, right after she had learned that Laurie had come back, with a lovely new wife, with a charming and nubile bride, with her own _sister_ as a radiant substitute to the drab literary spinster he had once promised to love eternally. She had left and although Laurie had argued and pleaded with her not to go, and sent letter after letter asking for her to come back to the place where she was love, she had held fast to New York and its cold, lonely streets. She had left, and although Laurie would never know why, the truth was that she had left because of him-- because she could no longer stand to be where she could see the man loved, the man she had _lost_, be happy with any other woman, even if that woman was part of Jo's own family.

She had left Massachusetts months back, and she had left it for a very _specific_ reason. And if this specific reason had sudden decided to-- to-- to come after her after all this time and after-- after marrying her bloody _sister_-- after showing her she was not good enough for him and probably never had been, never _could_ be--

She made up her mind in an instant. After all, there were only two real possibilities here.

Either this was not Laurie and she was about to make a very embarrassing fool of herself or--

It _was_ Laurie and she was about to stuff her manuscript down his pants and _set it on fire_ for coming here after all this time, after pretending to be someone else, after taking her heart in his hand and showing her how easily it could be replaced, how simple that procedure could be--

And frankly, in the war currently tearing her apart between potential embarrassment and pyromania, the pyromania was winning.

And before the man hovering over her could stutter his embarrassment once more and go running for a doctor, Jo's hand snaked out and gripped his sturdy wrist with surprising strength, as she clenched her strong jaw and lifted suddenly blazing gray eyes up to look at him.

"I know I might regret this very much," she said, her voice nearly glacial. "But Teddy, if that's you wearing those strange clothes that Amy would as soon burn as see and masquerading around in that ridiculous accent to come after me, so help me God, I am going to do unspeakable things with a pair of numerical ledgers to you and parts of you that have never before been exposed to such things."

He stared at that and before Jo could lose her nerve, she stared back, her eyes grim and her teeth forming words she almost spit out at him, so furious at what he might be pulling she was willing to leave propriety behind entirely.

"And take your pants off, will you? We'll see whether or not you're really who you claim to be right now."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N The second chapter of this series written with the lovely Mariagoner. All brilliance is probably hers. All of the lunacy... well, partly hers and mostly mine. We are the kind of writers who like reviews of any sort. **

**Badly. **

He stared at that and before Jo could lose her nerve, she stared back, her eyes grim and her teeth forming words she almost spit out at him, so furious at what he might be pulling she was willing to leave propriety behind entirely.

"And take your pants off, will you? We'll see whether or not you're really who you claim to be right now."

***

Jack stared.

And stared.

And then kept on staring.

Apparently, it was a nervous breakdown after all.

And though it was surprising to admit it, the fact disappointed him desperately. After all, it wasn't every day when the most interesting chat he had had with a young woman in a very long time-- possibly ever-- ended with her being mad enough to play house in a padded cell after asking all the orderlies around her to whip their trousers off.

He wasn't sure why that surprised him. That usually how good things went when he got involved, after all.

"Ma'am," Jack began, even as he backed away a bit, to get out of the reach of her grabby, grabby hands before she tried to either set him on fire or forcibly tear his hard-earned clothing off. "I don't know who Teddy is. I don't know who Amy is either. And these are my clothes and I really like to keep them on currently, especially since they're nicer than what I used to wear. There was a really ridiculous hat," --Jack took a precious moment to look down at the one now being held in a death-grip in his shaky hands, "--well, one that was even more ridiculous than this even-- and a piece of rope as a belt. Which I'm pretty sure your, uh, your Teddy wouldn't wear."

He wasn't even going to mention the knock to his accent. That one stung every time it came up. Even if this time it did come from a nutter.

***

"A piece of rope as a belt," Jo parroted dumbly.

That was an unexpected thing to hear, to say the least.

It was clear that if this man was Laurie... well, then Laurie had become an even better actor than any of the theatrics they had once held in Jo's cozy attic hideaway had indicated in the least. Everything about this man was different from Laurie besides that unforgettable face-- everything from the casual swagger in his walk to his sloping stance as he hovered over her, from the rough, streetwise cadence of his voice to the way his sun-streaked hair fell sleekly over his brow.

If this was Laurie, he had certainly gotten into whatever character he was supposed to be perfectly. And to be frank, Jo was beginning to doubt Laurie had enough of an imagination to pull such a transformation off.

Still stunned, she swallowed hard, and her fingers left his wrist to ghost against his palm and nails, which were apparently clenching right up.

"Do you..." she began, wanted to blush, and then realized her body was still too much in shock to cooperate. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you but-- you wouldn't... on your lower left calf. You wouldn't... happen to have a birth mark there, would you?"

Such a stupid thing to ask but-- but she had to make sure and-- and she had seen that dark mark on Laurie's leg so many times as he had pulled up his trousers to go wading in Concord's waters and then turned to invite her in with him, a smile flickering an invitation at the corner of his mouth as he turned to look at her with ardent eyes, an invitation she had never, ever accepted because she was so much a coward--

"Please," she whispered frantically, as much to escape the memory coming at her as much as anything else. "Please, could you just... I know it sounds awful but please, could you just roll up your pant leg and let me see if-- if--"

If this wasn't Laurie after all... oh, good God, this man would probably walk out of here thinking she was some sort of mentally unstable nymphomaniac and spread the news to anyone interested. And given all that she was asking of him now, she wasn't sure she could blame him either.

***

Once more, Jack found himself weighing his options as the woman's eyes went wide and she looked pleadingly at him now.

She didn't look all that dangerous anymore, that was for sure. At the very least, Jack was pretty sure he could outrun her, given the heavy skirts she was wearing and all. Which made turning right around and leaving the sensible option for now. It was clear she had lost her marbles completely and if Jack had the sense God gave to a sparrow, he would have marched right off, interview or no, and then told his editor about what had happened to save his own hide from being kicked right side around for not completing the assignment he'd given up.

He could do that. And once he did, he was sure he'd never see this woman again. Which probably wouldn't end up being that big of a loss... even if she had made him laugh more in fifteen minutes than most people made him do in hours.

Or... he could choose option number two. He could be the closest thing to a gentleman he could get and just do what she asked and roll his pant leg up.

After all, compared to the things he'd done for women before, this was almost a cakewalk. Even if she was deeply, deeply insane, it wasn't as though taking his clothes off for a woman who had just promised him grievous bodily harm wasn't something he had already done.

And she had looked apologetic when she had asked again, and she was kind of interesting for all her mania...

So Jack did just as she asked, even propping his leg up on a chair so she could see the smooth, unblemished skin underneath the gray of his slacks.

And then, once her eyes went wide at the fact that he had actually done as she had asked, Jack took a deep breath, pulled in every reservoir of patience he had within him, and tried to carry on gallantly.

"Miss March," he said calmly, as though he had not just done a merry little strip-tease for her, "let's try and restart this all over again. Who's your greatest influence as a writer?"

***

It was now Jo's turn to stare and she found herself doing so very, very hard.

After all, it wasn't every day that she went about threatening and then begging a young man to undress for her... or every day when the aforementioned young man did just as she asked and then immediately skipped to interview questions as though it had hardly given him pause.

Jo was quite sure that even Laurie, for all his boldness, wouldn't have been able to do what this man who shared his face had done.

Which was why Jo turned more shades of scarlet than even Amy had ever been able to turn out on canvasses and stuttered out a very incomplete answer.

"I don't-- I mean-- I'm not-- I'm sorry--"

And then closed her mouth and her eyes both before she could embarrass herself yet further.

***

Great. And now she had clammed up.

A small life-time on the streets had long taught Jack Kelly not to want for too much. His wants and needs were usually pretty humble and often very hard-won. He liked baseball, fast horses, pretty girls, good friends and actually getting compensated for working hard. He tried not to take things for granted and he was actually pretty grateful for even the modest victories he racked up.

But if there was one thing anyone who knew him could say about him, it was that he never really knew when to shut up. It was a trait he had usually used to good effect as a newsie in the past and as a reporter in the here-and-now, but sometimes... sometimes...

Sometimes his mind had a tendency to go on a rampage, leaving his mind and common sense far behind.

Such as, for instance, now.

"And if you're not about to talk about that," Jack went on, feeling his face growing red as he remembered what she'd said to him, "Why would you think I had a birthmark and that my name was Teddy? Who's Amy and how is what I wear any of her business? And--"

And then, like a popping trolley-tire, all his anger faded away, leaving him merely feeling very naked and self-conscious about all the things he couldn't change about his life, no matter how he tried. So Jack just sighed a bit and said, nearly under his breath, "And did you have to go make fun of my accent now?"

***

She actually had to open her eyes again in genuine dismay at the hurt in his voice--

And really, in dismay as well at her own manners.

Because really, even absent that tell-tale mark on his leg, she should have been able to tell this wasn't Laurie at all. She knew Laurie-- all too well, really-- and she should have known even without looking that this wasn't him at all. This man might resemble him so close as to pass off as his twin, but that was where all the similarities evaporated at once. He spoke, acted, walked and even hovered differently than Laurie did, and even if they shared a face, their expressions were remarkably dissimilar.

And really, how could it make any logical sense for it to be her friend and former suitor anyhow? What business would make him come to New York on such short notice anyway, let alone have him pretend to be a reporter coming in for an interview? How could she somehow believe she was important enough to make Laurie leave his beautiful house and even more beautiful bride in Connecticut just to-- to see Jo or to touch or to tell her--

Ludicrous. Idiotic. And worst of all, hopeless. She needed to stop thinking about those possibilities and start thinking about how to compensate this poor man she'd put through hell and back now.

And really, how had she been treating this poor soul, whose name she still didn't know? She had teased him abominably before they'd even seen each other, then practically throttled him when he had just come about to do an honest day's work by accusing him of being another man in disguise. And just to add insult to injury, she'd then gone on to make him feel shabby and self-conscious, as though it was his fault he spoke the rough dialect of the streets as opposed to her cultured, plummy tones.

Jo looked down, bit her lip, and felt shame burn within her.

She had to do something to make things right now.

And when she finally took a deep breath, stood up again, and touched him to show that she meant no harm, her hands were slow and careful against his shoulder, her touch smooth and soft.

"I'm sorry about that," she began earnestly, and stifled the urge to look away when those electric eyes of his fell upon hers. "I've been so awful this entire day and it isn't your fault at all! And honestly, you're not the one who has the silly accent here. I am! I'm from New England and we've got a run on 'r's' there, which is why I exaggerate them all too much."

That won a smile from him, at least, and smiling tentatively back, Jo went on.

"Everything I've done to you so far has been torn between being much too ridiculous and much too cruel to be believable. Honestly, should a rotund lady begin singing out of nowhere and ushering me to exit left because I've been a fool of operatic proportions as of late, I wouldn't be surprised in the least. So I must apologize once more about everything I've subjected you to in our last thirty minutes."

And when she bit her lip and looked apologetically at him, honest pain was emblazoned on every line of her young face just then.

***

And just like that, Jack remembered why his last girl always tended to get upset at him for running his fool mouth off.

After all, though the woman before him might be mad as a hatter, she really didn't deserve to be yelled at by some jerk off the streets because of some uncontrollable hissy fit, and the incredibly look of guilt on her face was now playing on his conscience as well.

Jack had to admit that he did still wanted answers to all of his questions... but he didn't want her to keep looking so damn sad because of him either. So when his eyes finally met hers again, he did his best to smile... and though it wasn't that big, sloppy grin that he could give when he was actually happy, it was one that tried to show her he wasn't really all that offended, honestly.

And when her mouth moved tentatively into a smile as well, Jack thought he might finally be seeing the real her for once.

"Don't worry about it," Jack said, and smiled again. "It ain't your fault I got a funny accent, after all. I know you didn't mean no– anything! You didn't mean anything by it. I'm just too sensitive, that's all."

Her hand was still on his shoulder and Jack did his best to remain still, to keep their light touch on him. And if was only when she quieted down still further and her pensive look turned merely observant that he went on.

"I – Can I – May I ask a rude and stupid question now?" he finally asked, and then, before she could interrupt, asked her: "Who is Teddy anyhow?"

And why are you so worried about him being here right now?

***

Her eyes fell from his face at the same time her hand did, she snatching her fingers from him as though she were burned out of nowhere.

Of all the things to ask her now...

Still, given the way she'd all but assaulted him in search of answers, she couldn't blame him for his curiosity. After all, she'd want to know the back story as well if some lunatic had thrown himself on her during an otherwise average day in her world, demanding to know why she looked like some mysterious stranger said lunatic was apparently going to kill. And given that he was a reporter and probably heard enough stories about crime in this city to make an average person's hair curl, she wouldn't be surprised if he thought she was some mob-moll on the run from the law-- or worse.

Shaking her head, she smiled weakly and tried to look as non-threatening and as non-threatened as absolutely possible.

"Oh, feel free to be as rude and stupid as you like, although I doubt you'll ever reach my lofty heights. I only manage to be this way through much practice, you know."

And then, after his face failed to waver from hers in the least, she wilted a bit and looked down, suddenly feeling even smaller and younger than she had previously.

(So much for coming back to New York and reinventing herself as a stronger, braver Jo March.)

"The person I thought you were... he's just... well. A friend. Or someone who used to be. And recently, he married and came back to the States from Europe. His new wife is... "

My sister, Jo knew she ought to say, but then her eyes came back up and she caught the sympathy in his own pair as he gazed down at her, nodding as though he already understood where she was going with it. And faced with as much, Jo found she couldn't quite bring herself to confess that the man she had loved had ended up marrying her own flesh-and-blood, once he'd gotten over her.

She felt as though she'd already humiliated herself enough for today and needed to preserve at least a little of her dignity for later.

"Someone I know well," Jo said instead, and forced herself to smile and look glad for them. "And he made a lovely choice, overall. They're really perfect together, those two... all well-bred and nicely mannered and aristocratic together. Although I keep writing to him that he ought to get rid of that newfound beard of his. It makes him look like a skinny, red-bearded walrus. Say, when you don't shave, does it come out queerly scarlet all over?"

***

Jack forced out a laugh but couldn't get a real one to come up.

It was kind of funny, actually, though not in a way that was all that fun. Over the past few minutes, he could have sworn that he had already seen every possible expression flit through her face, from the good humor he had glimpsed at the very start of their conversation, to the rage that had come upon her when she had thought he was her 'Teddy', to the humiliation that had turned her scarlet just seconds before.

But he had never seen anyone look so completely heartbroken until he saw her now. And there was something about the way that plain, honest face fell from his gaze that made his own heart feel oddly fit to ache, that made him reach out to push her chin up gently until his eyes could once again meet her grave gray ones.

No one who had ever grown up like him had ever let their face show so much. Nobody who had ever lived on the streets would have given away so much with a single sigh of the lips, with a quirk of the eyelids that showed so much he could practically paint a picture.

No, wherever this Josephine March was from, it wouldn't be a place he recognized at all.

But for all that, he thought he knew what moved in the corners of her great gray eyes just now.

"Nah," he said, and let his thumb ghost against her soft, warm cheek. Her skin was even smoother than it looked somehow. "My chin hair's as dark as a saloon after hours. Not a red spot in sight and thank God for it. I think I'm already a little funny looking with this broke-down long nose of mine. No use adding even more junk on."

***

She smiled again at that, although it took an effort.

This man really was kind, wasn't he? How many other men did Jo know who would stand around politely trying to console some mad woman after she had all but made them strip in order to confirm her paranoid fantasies? He was kind, this one-- just as kind as Laurie was. Just as kind as Laurie had been when he came back from Europe. Just as kind as Laurie could be.

Just as kind as Laurie had been to her when he had come back and she had been faced with his shining face as Amy had beamed before them both and told Jo that they had a secret to unveil presently. Just as kind as Laurie had been as he had indulgently smiled as Amy had told Jo that they had married in Europe, meant it to be a brilliant surprise, had been looking forward to seeing the joy in Jo's eyes as she learned of her new family.

Just as kind as Laurie had been when he cornered her later, and taken her hand in his own and told her that he wanted once again to be her friend and brother, wanted once again for time to reverse itself and them to innocently love each other, wanted Jo not to be in the least hurt that he had picked someone else over her, that a few years and a prettier March daughter had been enough to erase the memory of her completely.

Not that Jo blamed him for that choice. How could she blame him for that choice? Laurie had done the right thing in the end, especially since she had already rejected him. He had found someone sweet and lovely and refined and ladylike to be his bride-- someone so much better than a plain, gawky, ungainly tomboy like Jo could ever be.

And with that thought, Jo gathered up the courage, managed to banish the shadows from her eyes, and looked up at the man still patiently waiting next to her, thanking him for his kindness silently.

"Indeed," she replied, and almost managed to sound natural about it. "I'm sure my publisher would be very pleased to see how we hit it off presently. And truly, it's been very good to meet you. I don't have too many friends in the city and it's... it's always nice to meet a friendly face."

Even if this one reminded her unnervingly of the very reason she had fled her home in the first place.

***

"Especially in a city like this, where you need friends just to be missed," Jack said, and smiled again at her, although she probably missed it completely, what with her eyes being glued to her shoes as though she was seeing visions in them now.

It was kind of funny... he certainly wouldn't have thought of her as the quiet and retiring type given what she'd had to say to him when they had first encountered each other with the door between them, before she got a good look at his mug.

It was really kind of a shame she was clamming up, to be honest. Jack had certainly met his share of women before but this Jo... she was different from a lot of them. Different from a lot of men he'd met before too. Something about her just seemed so... so open and so alive but also so...

So lonely.

And given the life Jack had had to lead so far, he more than knew what that was like.

Which was maybe why he kept talking to the woman still next to him, although her cheeks were now redder than a whore's lipstick and she wasn't even looking up. Even though he more than wanted her to right now.

"You really don't know that many people?" he continued on, doubt heavy in his voice. "I mean, a girl like you, who's so classy and nice and-- I mean, I just thought you'd have at least a few guys who'd be all-- I mean--"

And now it was his turn to redden and look down at his feet, realizing what he'd just said to a well-bred young lady.

Where the hell did his usual charm _go_ when it came to talk to Miss Josephine March?

***

If Jo had thought that she had been red before, she was sure she looked like a literal Scarlet Pimpernickle right about now. She'd realized the man before her was kind previously but this was certainly laying it on...

(Even if a small, tiny, practically microscopic part of her felt more than a little flattered by his words just now.)

"Well," she returned instead, trying not to sound like too much a country mouse, "it... it's hard when you don't know too many people to begin with, you know? And besides--" And here Jo had to give a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm not exactly what you'd call, well, nice-looking so I'm not exactly swimming with suitors either. Besides, what even my face can't intimidate, my psychotic fits-- which you've already seen-- manages to scare off!"

And then, before he could hazard a reply or find a way to delay her further, Jo stood up and reached out for her coat, trying not to look as though she were fleeing, although that was precisely what it felt like now.

After all, this man might be more charming than most would be under the circumstances he labored under presently... but she was sure that they'd _both_ be more comfortable when she was finally gone.

"And-- I'm so sorry to cut this short but I've got an appointment to-- have an appointment, forgive me. My publisher-- he can surely arrange for someone else to interview me tomorrow. So I'm sure that eventually we'll-- er. Well. We'll surely see each other eventually, I imagine. And I should really go right now!

***

And with that, it was clear the woman before him just wanted to be gone.

Not that he could blame her, what with the very aborted interview that they had just had. Somehow, after only minutes of meeting each other, they had managed to go through more drama than Jack had experienced in his last few relationships put together, even with the surprisingly hard slaps his last girl had given him added to the ledger and all.

In light of that, it was no surprise that Miss Josephine March clearly wanted to fade out of his sight. And if he had the common sense the good Lord had given to a sea-gull, Jack would have let her walk out of this room and out of his life without a fight at all.

But then again, Jack had never been known for his common sense. Which was probably why he ended up doing what he did just now.

"I– I could walk you!" he cried, and somehow found himself walking behind her as she threw her spring coat on and opened the door to leave, her dark head still bowed.

"I mean," he added, when he saw her shoulders go rigid, "I could walk with you to your appointment. It's the least I could after-- you know-- scaring you. I figure I should be a gentleman right now."

***

He was a very nice man indeed, although Jo was currently refusing to allow herself to believe anything more could be at work. Surely this poor man was merely afraid that if he let the the twitchy psychotic who had just assaulted him waltz out of his sight, she'd probably go and threaten to dangle school children from a pier, or whatever. It was probably him attempting to look out for the public that made him call after her with such a surprising offer.

Not that she could blame him for believing that she needed to be kept away from vulnerable populations currently. But it still wasn't justification enough for her to take him up on his offer.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," she said hastily, although she stood still in the hall-way she had fled to to answer him. (At the least, she thought she ought to show _some_ of the manners Marmee had spent so much time trying to give her.) "Really you're very kind to want to keep my company but I don't think that-- that we should be-- especially when you-- I mean, I'm sure you've better things to do! Much more sane people to be with! A much more exciting life to lead!"

Especially if it didn't have twitchy psychotics who regularly assaulted him in it currently.

***

"Not really," Jack admitted. "I mean, honestly, I was just going home to take a nap, is all."

And then, he put his last few sentences together with the dumbfounded look that spread upon her face as she turned to stare at him, her eyes wider than ever in her pale face.

Oh, he _really_ wasn't from whatever polite place _she_ had come from.

"I-I-- I really shouldn't have said that," Jack muttered, feeling his cheeks flame once more, as though she had cast some sort of dark magic over him and magically made him flustered. "And really, ma'am, I never would have said that to a woman if she didn't make me... if she wasn't like you... if she didn't... sorry, Miss March, but I gotta say, you have a way of tangling me right up. And I used to play with a lasso as a kid so that ain't really easy to do to me either."

And then Jack had to stifle a groan from both the poor joke and his own poor taste as she turned to him fully, her face suggesting she wasn't used to hearing men say words like that in front of her at all.

***

"That's fascinating," Jo finally managed, after processing his answer. And she wasn't exactly lying either. Normally, she would have been thrilled to meet someone with an upbringing like his, given that she knew so few people from the West, and been ready to abandon her way back in order to pepper him with questions that could lead to future stories.

But given the morning that Jo had just had, all she wanted to do now was go home, go be hysterical on a fainting couch and then bemoan her terrible luck in running to New York to get away from rejection, only to find her rejectee's doppleganger. It was enough to make Jo wonder if she had personally offended some higher power.

Still, there was no reason to be rude. So, after stopping and staring at him, Jo smiled weakly and tried to form a polite answer.

"Well, there's nothing at all wrong with napping. No shame in it whatsoever! The last time I did, admittedly, I had this strange dream about a wombat explorer who ended up in-- but anyway, napping! It sounds lovely! In fact, I'd love to nap with you if--"

And then, seeing the man's hazel eyes go wide at her last few words, Jo stopped, swallowed, and wondered what sort of hellish evil she must have perpetuated without knowing it to deserve what was happening to her now.

"As in-- not _with_ you with you, but-- separately and in another location napping possibly somewhat close by _to_ you--"

Oh, she was _really_ not erasing his impression that she must be some form of raving lunatic currently.

***

And this time, it was Jack's turn to laugh... a laugh that might have started off small, as little more than a chuckle, but quickly became a full, head tilting, booming laugh that began deep in his chest and almost bowled himself over.

Common sense suggested he really ought to have held in back, especially in front of a woman who may or may not be a dangerous lunatic prone to ripping off men's trousers. And furthermore, common politeness told him that even if she wasn't all that bad, it really wasn't good form to start guffawing in front of a woman he'd just met, especially since she seemed way out of his league in terms of social standing anyhow.

But Jack never did what he should have... and this pattern from his life was becoming stronger the more time he spent with Miss Josephine March.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, his hand going up to run itself across his hair nervously. "It's just that... well, if one of us doesn't end up proposing some way to figure this out before this conversation ends eventually, I'm gonna have to give up my life as a reporter to become a rodeo clown once my editor fires me."

***

"Propose?" she said dumbly, wondering why the hell she hadn't fled yet and why he wasn't letting her go, considering he probably thought she was nowhere near in a sound state of mind..

Perhaps he thought she was _so_ mad he had to delay her until the proper authorities came around to collect her?

Slowly, Jo turned around, brilliant gray eyes wide in her white face, her palms open to show they didn't hold any sort of concealed weapon.

"Propose what? And... and a rodeo clown?"

Her mouth twitched and despite herself-- damn her curiosity! would it never cease getting her into trouble?!-- she had to ask.

"I-- I don't want you to be fired at all, sir, but... what's a rodeo clown and why is it terrible to be one, exactly?"

***

"It ain't, I guess," Jack admitted, and smiled a little sheepishly. "I mean, a man could probably do a lot worse and it'd still be better than being a newsie. It's just... well... I already spent a lot of time trying to be a reporter and if I get fired and end up on the streets again because I couldn't hack out one interview with some lady author--"

Abruptly, Jack shoved his hands into his pant pockets at about the same time he shoved his tongue between his teeth.

Seriously, why was he _telling_ her this? He might feel kind of... bizarrely connected to her but that didn't make his business_ her_ business. And he was sure they'd both be better off if he could keep his mouth shut when it came to it.

And then Jack had to laugh again as he suddenly found the irony in his situation.

"Although if I get fired because I couldn't get one simple interview right, that might even be a good thing. After all, I did want to be one when I was little. Hell, I wanted to leave for the west and be a cowboy until the day I turned eighteen."

***

Blinking hard, Jo simply stared at him, her cheeks now glowing like hot coals.

"I wanted to be a famous novelist," she answered weakly, once her voice came back. "I'm still working on that one. And... ahm... I'm guessing the whole fit I had back there didn't... throw you off, if you still want your interview?"

It certainly didn't seem to, if his facial features held any clue whatsoever. Far from looking wide-eyed or terrified, this doppleganger seemed to look more... intrigued than anything else, his face tilted, his eyes narrowed, and the slight-yet-growing smile on his face suggesting that he might actually find her to be...

Well, it was a smile she wasn't expecting to find on Laurie's face anytime soon, anyhow. Certainly not after he had married her sister. After such a happy occasional, Laurie certainly wouldn't-- in fact, he _couldn't_--

Oh, this was _so_ not Laurie right now.

Jo made a quiet noise at the back of the throat and said, very faintly: "I must confess, when I woke up this morning, this was not how I thought this day would proceed."

***

"Me neither," Jack admitted. "I mean, today, I thought I was going to be talking to some crazy, crabby old lady about her midget sisters and... well, I'm still not sure how tall your sisters are but you're _definitely_ not old or crabby, even if you might still be--"

...One of these days, Jack vowed to himself, he was going to simply take Sarah's old sewing kit and permanently shut his mouth. That might be the only way he would ever stop making a damn fool of himself in front of a woman who was now looking at him as though he had just taken his pants off and started doing a little dance, never mind how ironic that might be considering what she had threatened him with earlier.

"Sorry," Jack tried again, and cringed when he heard the very inadequate syllable slip past his lips. "I mean-- I swear, Miss March, I wasn't trying to be implying-- I mean, seriously, I'm sure you didn't mean to come off as all that-- _really_, I'm sure I provoked you or _something_--"

She merely made a sound that asthmatic bear sound of hers again and somehow, along with everything else that had happened-- in between the threats, the being taken in for someone else, and the general stress of being humiliated in front of the most interesting woman he had ever met-- something in Jack just... snapped.

And just gave in.

"Sorry," he repeated, heavily, the word practically whistling with a sigh through his teeth. "Ma'am, I am really, really sorry. And I should go know because I'm not sure why but every single second I spend with you seems to make me just a little more and more crazy. Something about you gets me all tangled up and I think that maybe, you'd be better off being interviewed by someone who _doesn't_ go crazy when you're near. So if you still want your name in the papes, you should call The Sun tomorrow and get yourself a rescheduled interview by someone who doesn't keep– Just make sure you ask for 'anyone-who-isn't-Jack-Kelly.'"

Jack hated giving in. He always did. He always had. But when it came to the confounding Miss March, he was ready to admit that that might simply be that.

And then, putting his hat on his head again, he nodded heavily at her.

He didn't especially want to say goodbye just now, let alone get fired. But he'd already given it his best and what else was left?

***

"Wait!" she cried before her mind had completely connected to her brain, and he froze on her. And then she froze on herself, as she realized just what she was doing.

...After all, what_ was_ she doing?

Why wasn't she letting him keep walking away from her?

Why oh why oh _why_ was she insisting on talking to him any further?

She had deathly embarrassed herself in front of him and to be frank, for the last ten or so minutes, he hadn't been much better in front of her. And the whole looking-like-her-long-lost-love-the-only-man-she'd-wanted-ever part was sort of not a promising sign either.

But-- but after all, she was the one who had leaped at _him_, the one who had derailed their scheduled interview-- and it was hardly fair for him to probably get in trouble at work because of her. And he had been trying to be so kind in not treating her like a lunatic after her actions and talking her down from what he probably thought was a psychotic fit and--

And Jo had been raised to believe that kindness deserved to be repaid in spades. And if he could believe she wasn't a psychopath given her most display, she thought she could take a chance on him as well. Even if it meant giving herself a chance to be embarrassed even further.

Which was why Jo finally swallowed hard, plucked up her courage and stepped forward to meet his curious eyes with her suddenly shy ones.

"Jack," she tried, and then smiled again faintly. "It's a nice name. I like it. It sounds like something for a cowboy. And I _really_ like that idea. You've been nothing but kind to me today and I... I really appreciate that a great deal So... so if you'd like to come around to my apartment tomorrow night, I can give you both your interview and dinner for your troubles. It's the least I could do, after leaping after you like a wild hyena on the prowl."

***

Jack just stood there for a minute, gaping as wide as his teeth would allow him to currently.

Honest to God, every moment he spent with this woman was one that surprised him entirely. He would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that she would have been happy to see the back of him after he made a colossal fool of himself just a little bit before, never mind her own rather frightening hissy fits earlier.

So Miss March had to be either one of three things. She was either a complete idiot who hadn't picked up on the innuendo that kept blurting from his lips, an angel with the patience of a nun, or a woman who enjoyed watching him be tortured by his own wits.

He didn't know her long, but he couldn't really imagine her as a moron or a saint.

But hell, maybe he was wrong. Even if he knew nothing else about the woman who was blushing beet red in front of him currently, he knew predictable was something she most definitely was not.

"I'd like that," he finally managed, finding he was grinning and unable to stop that. "I'd like that a lot! But... can I just ask you one favor?"

And just like that, before she could even say no, he went on.

"Tomorrow, when I come to do the interview at your place, would you pretend today never happened between us? I propose we act like we just met. Like normal folks. Cause my pride just can't take feeling like a fool. Especially since..." And here, his grin turned just a _little_ wicked, "I told you one of use would propose before we stopped talking to each other."

***

"You're a man of your promises," Jo mumbled, her cheeks still red, and then fumbled out a slip of paper in her coat pocket, which had her address scrawled on it for another. And then, with her eyes flickering hesitantly over him, she handed it to him, her fingers bumping into his palm again, her lashes fluttering on her very flushed cheeks from the contact they made at that moment.

The skin of his hands felt rough against the cool of the spring day they were in, rough and hardy and very, very callused, yet also curiously warm. Warmer than she had expected, even, given the very limited amount of contact she had had with men previously, especially the young aristocratic boy she had once known and loved before he had forsaken her again.

This man, this Jack, was very, very warm, warmer than she had remembered even his twin in appearance being. And when her eyes traveled from their entwined fingers to meet his own as they locked onto hers, Jo thought he might have felt something as well, given the way he now smiled rather dangerously at her.

It was only the third time in nearly nine months, since the time she had left Massachusetts, since she had willingly touched someone-- and each time that someone was _him_. And something in Jo knew that-- for better or for worse-- this was going to be the start of something very new for her.

As she turned to leave, she had at least one last riposte, her eyes sparkling as she looked back at Mr. Jack Kelly as he stood gazing still at her.

"And bring a fencing foil, will you? That way, if either of us is mad, we won't need to depend on the neighbors to save us from each other. After all," (and here Jo smiled, a little more boldly than before) "Given the start we've had-- although I promise I shan't remember it after tonight-- we might as well be prepared for whatever else might come."

***

"I'll be sure to bring my lasso at least," Jack promised, hopelessly amused. "I ain't much for fencing anyway." And when Miss Josephine March finally walked away, those odd eyes of hers almost gleaming, Jack could only smile, lean against his wall and watch her go, step by step, knowing that this was the start of something that would either prove to be mad or maybe merely maddening.

If Jack had the sense God had given to a swallow, he would have probably walked away just as quickly.

But then, Jack had never been blessed with an excess of common sense or sanity. And as he watched this woman walk away, he couldn't quite bring himself to regret it either.

After all, even cowboys needed to go out and find adventure once in a while... and Jack got the feeling that with Miss March newly in his life, there would be no shortage of that coming with her.

**A/N Thank you for reading. We love reviews. A lot. Really, we need the attention. *hinthintnudgenudge* **


End file.
